


Paper Lillies

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Steggy Week 2016 [4]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Kid Fic, Steggy Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6926695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thing in life that has always, without a doubt, given Steve a sense of purpose and joy was art. It isn't lost on him that art takes many forms, not just in putting pencil to paper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Lillies

**Author's Note:**

> In response to Steggy Week Day 4: Domesticity.
> 
> A slice of life fic from the _Tiny James 'Verse_ I started writing with [Margaret, May I?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1815082) and can also be found here in [Coney](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4873327). This story takes place in the early 60's, and follows the dramatic events of [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1815082/chapters/7827170).
> 
> This can absolutely be read as a stand-alone fic and makes no particularly major references to any of the other work it's a part of. Major need-to-know info includes: Steve and Peggy got married almost immediately after the War and promptly had their son, James Philip. They went on to have a second child, a daughter called Lillian and often alternately nicknamed "Tiger Lilly" or "Tinker Bell" in response to a love for the _Peter Pan_ story. Everyone lives, no one falls off trains.
> 
> Story elements and characters from _Agent Carter_ feature but the continuity was established well before the show and largely disregards S2 because of that.
> 
> The title is purposefully misspelled.

James shifted the stack of books in his arms and huffed as he and his father made their way down the wide stone steps at the front of the building. They’d spent the better part of the morning—a perfectly good, sunny summer morning that could very well have been spent at Coney Island or Rockaway, as James pointedly reminded him nearly every quarter hour _on the nose_ —searching through the reference and art sections.

“Why d’ya need all this stuff again?”

“For visual reference.” Steve cleared his throat and tried to sound authoritative, an eyebrow raised dramatically.

James rolled his eyes. His first year of high school had seen him transform into a gangly creature Steve wasn’t sure he recognized some days. That was until he’d stand a certain way or make a face that Steve knew Sarah Rogers had seen on himself more than once.

The boy rambled about the collection at the Brooklyn Library being just as extensive—to which Steve rambled back that he’d called ahead and it was, in fact, _not_.

“The flowers in Ma’s window box weren’t good enough?” He huffed and shifted his stack of books again as they headed into the unforgiving heat of the subway station. He accepted Steve’s half of the stack as well while the latter fished in his pocket for a couple of tokens.

“Just didn’t wanna paint a bunch’a marigolds, kiddo.” Steve took the majority of the books as they passed through the gate and walked toward their platform. “Besides, I’m low on those colors.”

“I think it wouldda been easier to just go to the store and get more paint.” James settled into an empty seat and clutched the books against his chest.

Steve frowned and sat beside him. “Watch it, James. Yer toein’ the line.”

They sat in sullen silence for a few minutes, the sound of the train rushing over the tracks nearly deafening in the sparsely filled car. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I just… it’s the _first_ week of summer, Pop.”

“I know that. And Coney would’ve been crowded as all hell.” James raised a brow, intrigued by Steve’s tone. “I _had_ meant ta take ya on Wednesday—but if that’s not—“

“Pop, I’m _sorry_.”

“I kinda planned a pretty damn boring day, didn’t I?”

“Kinda.”

They laughed in quiet snorted chuckles that earned looks of distain from a haughty older woman on the other end of the car. “We’ll get to Coney as soon as I’m done with this painting, I promise.”

At home, they hauled the books up to the master bedroom. Steve methodically laid them out on the bed, turning to the pages he’d marked off with slips of paper, while the water ran in the bathroom and James filled a cup for Steve’s brushes.

“Yer just gonna paint a bunch’a flowers?”

Steve laughed, “I guess you could say that.”

“Is this a present for Ma?”

“Nah.”

“Gramma Winnie?”

“Nope.”

“Then what’s it _for_?”

“Well, I finally got a space in the gallery.”

“Aw, Pop, that’s killer! Yer always yammerin’ about getting’ a show.” James grinned slyly.

Steve sat down at his drafting table and started sharpening a pencil to sketch with. “Can you grab me a piece of the big paper?” James put the cup of water beside the brushes where they were still sitting out from earlier that morning. He squatted down beside the milk crate full of different sizes and textures of paper and pulled out a suitable sheet. He set to fixing it in place on the drafting table without being prompted. “It’s not a whole show. They’re just lettin’ me put one piece in.”

“Just _one_?” Steve nodded and set his sharpener aside and scooted his chair closer to the table. “Don’t they know who you _are_?”

“I actually try very hard to not let people know that, mo leanbh.”

“Why? You could probably have a whole gallery just for you.”

“That’s exactly why. I don’t wanna ever take space away from someone who’s just as deserving—maybe more—because I threw a big Frisbee ‘round in Europe.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the shield hanging on the wall.

“But, Pop,” James sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully moving some of the books aside. “It was more’n that.”

“I know, and you know, but that’s what people remember. They like the story—the superhero,” he gestured at an unfinished sketch tapped to the top edge of the drafting table, something he’d been working on for a new book at _Timely_. “Like those. Makes it less… real.”

James pursed his lips to the side, the breeze from the open window ruffling the curtains and his curls. “Can I put the fan on? Or will it mess you up?”

“Go ahead, kiddo.” James slipped off the bed, thumbing the button for the ceiling fan on the wall near the door. He disappeared briefly, returning with a book of his own.

Hours later, Steve was still staring at a blank page. James had flitted in and out after the first hour—offering idle conversation, flipping the afternoon radio show on, asking if Steve needed fresh water for his brushes. For all of his complaining earlier in the day, he was genuinely interested in what Steve was going to produce for the gallery.

“Hey, Pop? When’s Ma gonna be home? I’m hungry.”

“Go grab and apple, buddy. Ma’s gotta pick Lilly up—you know how Mrs. Callaghan likes to talk.”

“Hey, Pop?”

“Yeah?” Steve wrinkled his nose at the annoyance in his tone. It wasn’t James—he was annoyed with himself.

“You… you still haven’t drawn anything.”

“I’m pretty painfully aware of that.” Steve tossed his pencil, still freshly sharp, onto the table and rose from his seat. He sighed and stretched. “C’mon. We’ll rustle up a snack and get dinner started. I’m sure Ma’ll be exhausted when she gets here.”

 

***

 

Steve was slump-shouldered and tired when he finally got back into the bedroom that night.

“Have trouble with Lilly?”

“Hadda check the closet three times and read six more pages of our book before she’d let me go.”

Peggy frowned and set her hairbrush down on the vanity. “I thought that was getting better.”

Steve shrugged, “I think it’s because you’ve been away, Peg. You know how she gets.” She frowned harder, her cheeks flushing with embarrassed color. It was a conversation best left for an hour where they were both far less exhausted. Steve sat down beside her on the bench in front of the vanity, bumping her shoulder with his. “She’ll be fine.”

“I hate this.”

“Yer just doin’ your job, Peggy.” He leaned in a pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “How _was_ DC?”

“Well, we might have a location for SHIELD headquarters. It’ll be years, though.”

“Who’s holdin’ it up?”

“Congress, of course. No one can agree. This is my least favorite part of being Director Carter—being away from all of you so I can virtually just talk to myself until I’m blue in the face. I could have used Howard, but he was fairly busy trying to hook a new consultant for the science division.”

“’M I not gonna be the weirdest thing science ever made anymore?”

Peggy let out a breathy laugh. “Not sure. This man—Hank Prim? Pym? I only met him briefly. He’s very… guarded. Rightfully so, I think, though.” Steve made a sound of agreement and leaned into her, his arm wrapping around her waist and his face coming to rest in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “Darling, why is our bed covered in books?”

“What? Oh. I needed references.”

“For the gallery piece?”

“Yeah.”

“But, Steve—a still life?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

“Well, Lou—you remember Lou, right?—he said…” Steve seemed to physically deflate, more of bulk resting physically on Peggy as he did. “None of my usual stuff was good enough. He was givin’ me the space on good faith—and ‘cause of…”

“Oh, Steve.”

“It’s been sixteen years since I put that suit on with any kind’a real intent, Peg.”

Peggy twisted on the bench, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against the top of his head.

“Your paper is blank.”

“I know.”

“So fill it with something _good_.”

They pulled apart abruptly at a soft knock against their doorframe. Steve cleared his throat and stood, moving to get all of the books off the bed.

“Ma? Pop?” James looked like he’d just seen something he shouldn’t. “Lilly’s in my room. I just… She came in and said she couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want ya to worry.”

Peggy stood and tightened the belt on her robe. “I’ll go put her back. I’m sorry, darling.”

“No, no, it’s okay. She can stay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh. Night.”

 

***

 

Steve rose with the sun and Peggy. He dressed in his “work clothes”—an old shirt already stained to hell and back with charcoal and graphite and paint, and that one weird reddish spot he was fairly sure was from the weekend he’d thought pottery might be a good idea.

The pair of them hovered in the door of James’s bedroom after finding Lillian’s empty. The long-limbed, floppy haired, teenage creature their petite, rounded son had grown into was sprawled across the bed with his legs tangled in the sheets. His sister was curled tight under his arm, his fingers clutched between her two small fists.

Peggy stifled a laugh, “We’ve got to get him a bigger bed.”

“Aw, c’mon. His feet aren’t danglin’ off the end yet.”

Steve stepped into the room and opened the window fully to let the morning breeze in. Peggy crossed to the bed, gently pushing James’s hair away from his face and bending down to plant a kiss on Lilly’s cheek.

“Do you want me to make them something quick for breakfast before I go?”

“Nah, let ‘em sleep. I’ll make something later.”

They moved down the stairs, Peggy chatting idly about dreading the chaos that Thompson would have unleashed in the office in her absence. “Are you going to work all day?”

“I’m gonna try to. If I could just _think of something_.”

Peggy frowned, running her fingers over the buttons of his shirt, tracing the outline of the large swath of exposed neck and collarbone. “If I’d known _Lou the gallery guy_ was going to be an utter buffoon, I wouldn’t have told Angie to give him your information.”

“Hey, his buffoonery isn’t your fault. Not Ang’s either. I’m just gonna have to make a choice—prove ‘im wrong or pull out and give the space up to someone else.”

“If I know anything at all about you, you’re going to prove him wrong.” She smiled and pulled him down for a kiss, deep and slow and lingering.

“Whoah.” Steve ducked in for another as Peggy put her hand on the front door. “One’a us goin’ off to war?”

“Fill that paper with something _good_.” She patted him affectionately on the cheek and slipped out the door before he could delay her with his mouth again.

 

***

 

Steve was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor with the books he’d brought home from the library spread around him in a circle while he sketched when his children made their first appearance of the morning.

“Papa!”

“Morning, Tiger Lilly.”

The little girl wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders in a hug. She put her weight against him, making him lean forward until she picked her feet up off the floor, laughing in delight.

“Papa, will you braid me? James pulls too much.”

“Sure, mo leanbh.” He turned his head and smacked a loud kiss against her cheek. “Go sit on Ma’s seat.”

She flounced over to the vanity, a flash of lavender and pale bare legs in her romper, and made herself comfortable.

“Hey, Pop?” James stuck his head in the door. “Can I use the phone?”

“Makin’ plans?”

“Uh-huh, if it’s okay?”

“Ah, yeah. Just—let me know the details, okay?”

“Yup.”

Lilly preened in the mirror, eyes fluttering closed in a pleased expression as Steve brushed her hair until it was shining and smooth like spun gold and then worked it into a French braid to keep it out of her face.

“Papa, are you workin’?” Steve made an affirmative noise as he fixed a crumpled ribbon Lilly fished from her pocket and handed back over her shoulder onto the end of her braid. “Are you gonna draw lots of flowers?” She twisted around on the bench. “Is it _going to be_ a new lady superhero? With flower powers? For your magazines?”

Steve laughed, “That’s a good idea.”

Lilly carefully put her feet up onto the seat and stood, arms akimbo and her chin regally in the air. “Draw me! I can be the super-girl.”

“Alright then, you can be the super-girl.” He plucked her off of the seat and spun her around before setting her down on the floor.

“You’re gonna draw me?”

“Sure, I—that’s actually a great idea.”

“Of _course_ it is, Papa.”

Steve scooped her up off her feet once more. “You,” he planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “Are brilliant.”

Lillian laughed and blushed and insisted she be consulted on what to name the new hero before she skipped away to find her brother.

Steve sat down at his drafting table, grinning to himself as he picked up the pencil that had been sitting abandoned since the day before. “Something good.”

 

***

 

Somewhere around lunch, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin at a knock on the door.

The kids had been quiet most of the morning save for the Victrola in the living room and the occasional dispute resolution. Steve had thought in passing that he’d need to make sure James got to spend more time with his buddies in the coming week, maybe send them all to the pictures as a thank-you for keeping Lillian entertained and giving Steve such a long stretch of undisturbed peace to work in.

“Pop?”

“Geeze, tryin’a gimmie a heart attack?” James laughed, craning his neck from the doorway to see around Steve’s shoulders and trying to peak at the progress he’d made. “You guys hungry? I can take a br—“

“I made sammiches.”

“Oh.” Steve frowned, slightly alarmed by the self-sufficiency. He would always be bewildered at how much the kids had grown.

“I was wonderin’ if you had anymore subway tokens?”

“Who, where, how long?” Steve moved to the doorway and motioned for James to follow. They took the stairs two at a time, racing the whole way and skidding to a halt in the front hall. Steve waited patiently for an answer while he dug around the bottom of Peggy’s good purse in the hall closet for a token.

“I wanna take Lilly to Central Park. I got the boat we made last summer outta the basement.” He gestured to the model sitting on the floor near the front door.

“James, I know yer trying to be helpful but you know I don’t like you guys goin’ so far away without—“

“I already called Uncle James. He’s on ‘is way over.”

“Is that the phone call y’made this morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You certainly have everything in hand, don’t ya?”

James shrugged and rocked back on his heels. As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “’Ey, Punk, it’s me.”

Steve frowned as he opened the door. “You two are dangerous when you put yer heads together. What have you got planned?”

“Not even a ‘hello’ first thing through the door?”

“Hello. What scheme have the two’ah ya cooked up?”

Bucky ruffled James’s dark curls as he squeezed past Steve. “Nothin’s cookin’. The kid called me up, asked for an escort. Promised me a ham ‘n Swiss for the trouble.”

“Buck—“

“Look, you got work to do, don’t ya? Lemmie get ‘em outta your hair for a couple of hours. It’s summer, they belong outside, anyway.” He walloped Steve affectionately on the chest with his prosthetic, the pins and joints clattering as he did. “Heard you got a show. Little offended I didn’t get the good news straight from the horse’s mouth.”

James flushed with embarrassment and looked down at his shoes, sudden realization that he’d revealed a secret hitting him. Steve sighed and ran both hands through his hair.

“Peg’s the only one who knew. It’s—it’s not… it’s not a whole show. Just one piece in the gallery downtown. I dunno if I’m goin’ through with it.” He frowned thinking of the half-finished watercolor drying upstairs.

“Aw, Pop you—“ Steve gave his son a warning look.

Bucky stepped further into the hall, ducking into the living room. “Tinker Bell!” Lillian whirled around in the spot in the middle of the carpet she’d been dancing in, a throw pillow clutched to her chest while she waltzed dramatically. “Or are ya _Anne of Green Gables_ today?”

“Nuh-uh, Uncle James, she has _two_ braids.” She shrieked with laughter when Bucky bent down to scoop her up in the crook of his right arm, lacing her fingers together behind his neck and rubbing the tip of her nose against his by way of a proper greeting.

Bucky groaned under her weight. “You, girly-girl, are gettin’ _heavy_.”

“Just have ‘em back before it gets too dark, alright?”

“No problem.”

“And not too much junk?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Buck, I know you don’t know how’da say no to them.”

“But spoilin’ ‘em rotten and then giving them back to you is one of my favorite past times. It’s right behind opening day when them stupid Dodgers were still here on the list of things I get real joy from.”

James, having slinked away quietly, reappeared with the family’s picnic basket hooked over his arm. “Ham and Swiss on Wonder Bread, as promised.” Bucky grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Steve. “Pop is it okay if I take a couple’ a Cokes?”

“Why do I get the feeling they’re already in the basket?” James looked up at him innocently, using the same expression Peggy employed to get Steve to quit working and call it a night when he was racing against a deadline for a new magazine. Steve shook his head and smiled, “It’s fine.”

James grinned, “Thanks, Pop.” He bent down to tuck the model boat under his free arm and headed for the door.

Bucky placed Lillian back down on the floor and she wrapped her arms around Steve’s waist briefly. “Bye, Papa.” She made a move to follow James out the door and then hesitated. She squeezed Steve in a second, more deliberate hug as if she’d be gone for days instead of just a few hours.

“Go get back to work, Punk. I know yer not gonna focus if you’ve got these two to worry about—no matter how well behaved they decide to be.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and let Lilly take his hand, tugging him toward the door. “Go draw somethin’ that’ll make ‘em give ya a whole damn wing at the Met.”

Steve scoffed and followed them out onto the stoop, “Thanks, Jerk.”

“No problem!” Bucky shouted back over his shoulder in Steve’s direction.

Steve watched until they’d disappeared around the corner, headed toward the subway, the blinding afternoon sunlight turning them into dark silhouettes as they walked.

Steve’s breath caught in his chest.

He turned and raced back into the brownstone and up the stairs before he lost the thread of inspiration.

 

***

 

“Hello? Where is everyone?” Peggy’s voice rang through the empty house and cut through the low volume of the radio in the bedroom. “Darling?” Her pitch rose, tinged with distress when she didn’t receive an answer. “James? Lilly?” Her heels clicked sharply against the staircase.

“Peg! I’m up here!”

Peggy appeared in the doorway wilted with relief and the humidity outside. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled up at her when she crossed the room to sit behind him on the edge of the bed. “Rough day?” One shoe and then the other clunked onto the floor.

“Mm. With Kennedy and Cuba—all anyone at the agency is worried about is the Red Room. We’ve got Underwood sightings every time I turn around. And then I’ve got Howard hounding me about getting Pym on board.” She flopped back onto the mattress and blew a curl off of her face with a puff of air. She watched the ceiling fan make its lazy rotations for a few moments before abruptly sitting back up. “Where are the children?”

“With Bucky.” Steve looked up at the window and the sun beginning to sink toward the roofs of the buildings. “They should be home soon.”

Peggy visibly relaxed. “I hope he tires them out.”

“I think they’re gonna tire _him_ out.”

Peggy plucked pins out of her hair and dropped them on the vanity and pulled it up into a ponytail. Steve turned, his cheeks flushing as he admired the sweep of her uncovered neck.

“What do you feel like for dinner?”

Peggy dropped her blouse into the laundry basket and tugged one of Steve’s crisp white undershirts over her head. She turned with a hand on her hip and leaned an elbow against the top of the dresser, an expectant look on her face.

“How about breakfast?”

Peggy grinned and started to respond when her eyes caught on the drafting table. “Have you finished?”

“Finish—no! Don’t!” Steve stood up to block her view. “It’s not done. I don’t wan’cha to see it until it’s done.”

Peggy laughed as he herded her toward the door with urgency. “Alright then! Alright! I’ll go start whipping eggs.”

When they retired that night, the painting was safely hidden away.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you made me wait.”

Peggy smiled in that wicked way she did when she knew she was right. Steve had told her he wanted it to be a surprise, to make it special by having everyone see it for the first time hanging in the gallery.

Really, he was terrified to look at it again.

He knew he’d find things wrong with it—knew he’d find a reason to back out of the show.

He’d brought it to the framer tucked into his portfolio folder and had it delivered directly to the gallery. The owner had called him to sing praises that Steve had a hard time believing.

“You’ll see it soon enough.” Steve pulled the family wagon into a parking space a few blocks away from the building they were headed to. His hands grew slimy with nervous sweat that he wiped as discretely as he could managed on the sides of his summer suit pants.

Peggy squeezed his hand as they stepped through the door.

“Papa, where’s yours?”

“Over there in the corner, mo leanbh.”

James stood on his toes and craned his neck to see around the crowd that had gathered, all nibbling on finger sandwiches and sipping sparkling wine. He turned and broke out into a joyful expression when he saw the spot Steve had indicated and tugged Lilly through the crowd to see it.

“Darling?”

“I really hope you like it, Peg.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Nobody else’s opinion matters.”

Peggy rose slightly on her toes and kissed him softly before tugging him along through the path James had cleared. She came to a halt in front of Steve’s piece and pressed her fingers to her lips.

“Oh, Steve.” She smiled, soft and fond and almost sad, her eyes getting moist.

“Peg?”

Lilly looked ecstatic, “Is that me?”

“Uh-huh.”

The little girl yanked gently on her brother’s jacket. “That’s _me_ ,” she whispered.

The watercolor was very unlike the geometric patterns and loud prints the rest of the room was filled with.

The farthest point in space was filled with the violent colors of the sunset, the oranges and yellows Steve had run low on supplemented with saturated reds that faded into soft pinks skyward and bled into hard blacks and greys in the variegated greens and yellows of the ground.

Sharp spikes of red-turned-black became spots that looked something like footprints if you looked close and squinted. The spots sprang up from the ground in bright splashes of color and tendrils of green that crept up into the limbs of the two figures in the foreground—recognizably based on the two young people admiring the piece.

Delicate ropes of green and yellow twined around limbs and faded into the creamy white of their clothing before becoming vibrant again as they blended with blonde and chestnut. Blooms of color nestled in their hair and dripped onto their shoulders—thistles and violets and baby’s breath.

An abrupt burst of orange rested lightly in the foremost figure’s outstretched hand.

A tiger lily.

A wave of nervous nausea made Steve’s stomach twist. “Peggy?”

“It’s beautiful, Darling.” She pressed herself close to his side and put her head against his shoulder. “It’s something good.”

“It’s us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact! The New York Public Library does not serve the entirety of New York. The NYPL, most recognizable by the main branch building by Bryant Park, serves Manhattan, the Bronx, and Staten Island. Brooklyn and Queens have their own systems established around the same time.
> 
> In the MCU, Hank Pym started developing the Pym Particles that would make Ant-Man possible in the 1960s. 
> 
> The story, and Steve's painting, were inspired by [this piece by Judith Geher.](http://1000drawings.tumblr.com/post/144128461246/by-judith-geher)


End file.
